


Slippery When Wet

by ckret2



Series: RadioSnake Discord - Spicy Showdown Week [4]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Body Worship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Sex Positive Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Shower Sex, Showers, Singing, Sir Pentious Has Two Penises, also one Egg Boi dies to be used as shampoo, and Alastor thinks bloody thoughts (but lovingly), but it's because Alastor keeps falling over, sort of; his options are limited but he's positive about the ones he's OKed, you'd think the title is for sexy wink wink nudge nudge reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2
Summary: Sir Pentious has just finished redoing the shower in his newest back-up secret lair, thinks the best way to test its effectiveness is with a guest, and runs this idea by Alastor.Things that, in Alastor's opinion, go great together: showers and duets.Things that go horribly together: hooves and tile bathroom floors.Things that go together well enough together to make up for the last downside: their hands and each other's bodies.
Relationships: Alastor/Sir Pentious (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: RadioSnake Discord - Spicy Showdown Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732291
Comments: 8
Kudos: 107





	Slippery When Wet

**Author's Note:**

> So _last_ week the RadioSnake discord I'm in ran a week-long event called [Spicy Showdown](https://hanekdraws.tumblr.com/post/616864101916983296/were-having-our-first-event-on-the-radiosnake) and I fell behind because I kept writing fics a lot longer than I was meaning to. But I'm gonna finish! This is for Day 3's prompt, Shower/Bath. (This is actually the 4th I've written because I did a couple out of order.)
> 
> (Enjoy this tooth-rotting fluff while you can; next fic we're back on the angst train.)

Sir Pentious had just gotten the bathroom remodeled.

Whenever he purchased a new residence and refitted it into a proper safe house, remodeling bathroom was always a top priority. Not just because the sense of taste of just about everyone else in hell was either tacky or drab (although it _was_ ), but because most bathrooms simply weren't designed to accommodate serpentine anatomy.

The average bathtub or shower was not built to accommodate over a dozen feet of snake, and even the tubs that were designed for Hell's taller citizens tended to assume the user had knees instead of coils. And he wasn't even going to get started on trying to use a standard modern toilet.

It didn't matter if every box was unpacked and every wall repainted and repapered; Sir Pentious couldn't declare a new safe house habitable until it had a bathroom he could actually use.

Now, it had a beautifully shower, done up in in gorgeous black and gold scale-shaped tiles (Sir Pentious knew he overused the motif, but it looked so good), large enough for him to comfortable slither around the whole perimeter without tripping over his own tail, with five shower heads embedded in the ceiling, _and_ —he was _extremely_ proud of this bit of engineering work—he'd given the shower a split door so that the glass top half could open while the bottom half could seal and convert the shower into a jacuzzi.

A tepid jacuzzi. He couldn't stand the broiling temperature they were kept at in hotels. But the bubbles were nice.

But the true final test for the shower was sufficient was going to be whether he could invite a guest into it.

Sir Pentious headed from the bathroom into the half-furnished master bedroom and out into the hallway, weaving around a couple of Egg Bois moving boxes between rooms, and pressed an intercom halfway down the stairs. "Alastor?"

"Hello!"

"Are you sweaty?" The last time Sir Pentious had seen Alastor, he'd been preparing to help put up wallpaper in the dining room (the _slow_ way, Sir Pentious had insisted, no magic—the detail work on Alastor's interior decorating tended to suffer when he delegated tasks to shadowy semi-corporeal eldritch abominations), so by now Alastor had to be sore and sweaty.

"Yes!" Alastor paused. "Weird question, but yes!"

Sir Pentious leaned on one wall to let a couple of Egg Bois pass with a TV box. "Good. I need to test run my new shower with a guest, do you want to join me?"

"Well... yyyes, but I'm in the middle of a task. Give me fifteen minutes?"

"That's fine. I need time to mix up the toiletries, anyway." Soaps for reptile skin were too niche a product for any to be on the market that were both worth their cost and better than something Sir Pentious could make at home, and Alastor was still tragically trapped in an era when "shampoo" meant "two eggs and a bit of red wine."

"Let me know!" A couple of measures from an old-fashioned love song played through the intercom before it crackled and went silent.

A passing Egg Boi stopped and said, "You _know_ , Mr. Bossman, if you don't want to wait for _him_ to have somebody to shower with..."

Sir Pentious smacked the egg with his tail.

Well. That took care of Alastor's shampoo ingredients.

###

"I'm going to start that shower in a couple of minutes," Sir Pentious said on his way back up the stairs.

"Okay," Alastor replied, and that was it.

Several minutes later, once Sir Pentious had stripped and started the water and was waiting for the meter over the handle to say it had reached the right temperature, Alastor still hadn't made an appearance. Sir Pentious tried again with the bathroom intercom: "Alastor, I'm taking that shower now! Are you going to join me?" But there was silence. "Alastor?"

No response. Okay, time for plan B. This _always_ got Alastor into the bathroom.

Sir Pentious got into the shower, muttered a few lines under his breath to make sure he remembered the lyrics, and then started singing loudly enough for the intercom to pick up: "'Picture you upon my knee, just tea for two and two for tea—just me for you and you for me, alone!'" He paused, listening for a reaction; then went on: "'Nobody near us, to see us or hear us—'"

There was a loud crackle as the intercom came to life. Ah, _now_ he was listening. He was so weak for sappy twenties tunes. Sir Pentious smirked to himself and continued, "'No friends or relations on weekend vacations—'"

Over the intercom, Alastor exuberantly cut in, "'We won't have it known, dear, that we have a telephone, dear!'" He must have been running for the bathroom now, because past the sound of the intercom Sir Pentious could hear Alastor's own voice in the distance but getting louder and closer: "'Day will break, and I'll awake, and start to bake! A sugar cake, for you to ta'—YEEK." _Thump_. "Oof."

Sir Pentious leaned against the wall and cackled so hard he slid down to the tile floor.

Several seconds passed before the bathroom door burst open and Alastor triumphantly concluded the line, "'—for all the boys to see!'"

"What was _that?!_ "

"I, uh. Tried to run to the bathroom and undress at the same time and tripped on my pants."

Sir Pentious cackled again.

"Oh, sure, it's easy for _you_ to laugh, you don't have pa-AAnts." There was the sound of hooves skidding on tile.

"Alastor?!"

"I'm alright! I caught myself."

Sir Pentious bit back another laugh. He'd been so caught up in getting the bathroom remodeled for his own use that he'd completely forgotten how helpless Alastor was on tile when he was barefoot—especially when it was wet.

Alastor's microphone cane muttered, "You mean _I_ caught you."

Alastor muttered back, "It was a team effort."

Without bothering to straighten up, Sir Pentious slithered over to the door, popped it open, and smirked up at Alastor with his chin in his hand and his elbow on the floor. "Should I get you a pair of slippers or should I get those little rubber mats?" He paused, leering up at Alastor's naked body from below. "You know, you don't look bad from this angle."

Propping himself up with his cane and _nearly_ managing to look stable like that, Alastor replied, "As far from my face as possible?" He gave Sir Pentious a crooked smile that exposed more of his yellowed fangs.

"Shush, I'm trying to flirt with you."

The microphone cane's eye rolled from Sir Pentious up to point through the shower door, and then up to Alastor. "You're not about to bring a poor, sensitive electronic like me in _there_ , are you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Alastor tossed the cane aside. Sir Pentious didn't hear it land, so it must have poofed away before hitting the ground.

Sir Pentious rolled back onto his tail to straighten up and held out his hand. "Come on, I'll keep you steady. You can cling to me in the shower."

"What a generous offer that I'm sure you didn't make because you'd love for me to cling to you the whole time."

"Let's call it a win-win."

Alastor gripped Sir Pentious's hand tightly as he stepped carefully into the shower. He only loosened his hold once he'd shut the door and was standing steadily under one of the shower head streams stream. "You know," he said, " _you_ don't look bad from _this_ angle."

Sir Pentious huffed. "We're both standing. This is the angle you _always_ see me at."

"And?"

" _Oh._ " Sir Pentious huffed again, then gave Alastor a quick peck on the lips. "Stop being charming and wash off. You've got ceiling popcorn in your h— Why do you have ceiling popcorn in your hair?"

Alastor ran his fingers through his bangs. "Well, ceiling popcorn _clearly_ isn't your style, so I thought as long as I was working on the dining room I'd save you the time and scrape it off. I didn't get to the wallpaper, but..." He trailed off, glancing at Sir Pentious, clearly waiting for a reaction.

And Sir Pentious hadn't even asked Alastor to mess with the ceiling. "I was planning on redoing that ceiling with chandeliers and some ornamental plasterwork. You've saved me some time."

Alastor's smile stretched wider. He wrapped a hand around Sir Pentious's waist for stability as he reached for the shelf where the shower toiletries had been put. "Chandeliers _plural?_ " He grabbed the jar of shampoo Sir Pentious had prepared for him, and squeezed Sir Pentious's hip a little tighter in thanks.

"A central one and then a few smaller ones in the corners." Once Alastor was standing on his own again, Sir Pentious leaned over to grab his own body wash. "It should help balance out all the black paint and heavy curtains I'm going to put in there, bring some light into the room. And I think multiple chandeliers for one room will add to the whole 'ostentatiously extravagant' vibe I'm going for."

"Oh, absolutely," Alastor agreed, unscrewing the lid and dumping a little shampoo into a hand. He stepped into a thin gap between a couple of shower heads' streams to start lathering it into his hair.

Sir Pentious shut the eyes on his face and hood to start lathering them up with body wash, but the eye on his chest remained trained on Alastor the whole time. For all that Alastor joked about considering his face nothing to write home about (and, to be fair, he _could_ stand to brush his teeth a little more often), Sir Pentious found him quite an attractive sight. Particularly like this: the deep red of his shut eyelids like a perpetual fresh bruise, a rare ruddy sight in an afterlife where nearly everyone else's natural complexion was ashen gray with death; his sharp black nails, like claws that had been carved from the same material as his hooves, running through his hair, the bright red and black tufts of fur on his head and chest and abdomen and back and lower legs practically begging Sir Pentious to run his own fingers through them; the water running in rivulets down his back to highlight the muscles hidden in his thin frame...

Alastor had started singing again as he showered, picking up the same song: "'You are revealing, a plan so appealing, I can't help but feeling for you.'" His tail swung back and forth along his thighs like a metronome as he sang. He tapped Sir Pentious's tail with a hoof, startling out of his thoughts.

Right, it was his line. "'Darling, I planned it; can't you understand it is yours to command it, so do.'"

"'All of your schemes I'm admiring—'" Alastor opened an eye to slyly give Sir Pentious a sideways glance, and he got the sense that Alastor was aiming that line in particular at him, "'—they're worth desiring...'"

Sir Pentious's chest puffed up proudly.

Alastor continued singing as he knelt down down to lather the homemade shampoo into his lower leg fur. For about the millionth time, Sir Pentious considered getting contacts or strapping goggles onto his lower eyes—he had a couple that were _inches_ from Alastor's ass, but his vision through them was too blurry to appreciate the view properly. A pity. 

Sir Pentious had never been much of a fan of the look of fuzzy haunches on Hell's more heavily-furred denizens—it always seemed somehow unhygienic to him—but for some reason Alastor's was the exception. Perhaps because the fact that his fur was mostly concentrated on his chest and groin and lower legs meant it nearly looked like unusually thick body hair. Perhaps because it stayed short and trim enough to be manageable, unlike the fur on _some_ sinners he'd seen. Perhaps because, despite Alastor's other lax hygienic habits, he at _least_ made sure _that_ part of himself was clean any time he visited Sir Pentious. Or perhaps just because the fuzz in question was on _Alastor's_ haunches instead of some random hellhound's.

But whatever the reason, in spite of Sir Pentious's usual preferences—that strip of red fur that trailed from just below Alastor's belly button down to cover his groin, peter out along his inner thighs, and then curl back up his spine to the middle of his lower back... _that_ , Sir Pentious adored.

As he started the long, boring process of washing his tail, he let thoughts drift away to the sound of Alastor's singing and the sight of water rolling down his naked skin.

###

Watching Sir Pentious shower—particularly, watching him twist around to wash every inch of his long serpentine tail from waist to tip—was like getting a free ticket to a circus act. Alastor could even provide the ringmaster's commentary: _Witness the living ouroboros! Watch as he ties himself into knots any sailor would be proud of and then effortlessly slithers free of them_ —

He'd actually tried to do that once.

Sir Pentious had kicked him out of the shower.

He'd probably thought Alastor was making fun of him. On the contrary, Alastor thought the performance was enthralling.

Alastor worked at his own fur with his shampoo and at his skin with the castile soap he'd been so helpfully provided, while keeping a safe distance away from Sir Pentious as he worked his way through his impressive pretzel contortionist act.

As soon as Sir Pentious had finished, though, Alastor sat himself down on the length of Sir Pentious's tail that was lying on the ground, without asking and without warning. Half because he'd found that shampooing his own tail was easier when he had a bench he could sit on as he did it, half because he wanted to see whether Sir Pentious reacted to suddenly having his tail pinned in place.

The reaction took a couple of minutes to show up. Sir Pentious simply continued washing himself; and then, eventually, asked, "Need help?"

Alastor froze, glancing up at Sir Pentious from a position half bent forward with his arms twisted around his back. Despite all appearances to the contrary, no, he didn't—sure he was doing this in a strange position, but it was a strange position he was used to. He'd been washing his own tail for eighty-odd years, after all. The suggestion that he needed help at all was very nearly insulting.

But—he had to remind himself—that wasn't _really_ why Sir Pentious was saying. It wasn't an offer to help so much as a request to touch. Sir Pentious had nearly managed to conceal the hungry look threatening to creep over his face, but it was nevertheless betrayed by how he'd twisted around to loom over Alastor. Every single eye on his body was fixated on Alastor's body—and a slit beneath Sir Pentious's hips that typically looked like a nearly-invisible shut eyelid was beginning to bulge and threatening to open.

Alastor wondered what in the world he'd done to inspire _that_.

Sit around naked, he supposed. That typically did the trick. Maybe absent-mindedly rub his balls on Sir Pentious's tail? Something mundane like that. Maybe it was his singing, he hoped it was his singing.

He considered Sir Pentious's offer for a moment; and then flashed him as sweet and innocent a smile as he could manage with a mouthful of fangs. "Do I get to return the favor?"

Sir Pentious's main eyes and hood widened slightly, as if the thought of being touched _back_ had only just occurred to him. Beneath his seat, Alastor felt an excited shiver run down Sir Pentious's spine all the way to the tip of his tail.

Alastor played a sleigh bell sound he thought was a fitting onomatopoeia for the shiver. "I take it that's a yes?"

"Of _course_ it's a yes," Sir Pentious said, glancing away quickly. "You'd just... better be aware that I'm probably going to _enjoy_ it quite a bit more than you are."

As if Alastor hadn't already worked that out for himself. All the same, he appreciated the warning—not because he needed it, but because Sir Pentious had felt the need to give it.

When Alastor and Sir Pentious had first tentatively eased their way into this relationship, on some level Alastor had dreaded the possibility that the more time they spent together, the more Sir Pentious would feel like it was high time they get to know each other a little _deeper_ , physically speaking. Sir Pentious was a gentleman, certainly; but didn't the typical gentleman only restrict himself to hand-holding and chaste kisses until he thought that the object of his courtship had had enough time to be sufficiently seduced by his oh-so-gentlemanly behavior—at which point giving the gentleman quite a bit _more_ was considered all but obligatory?

Instead, the more time they spent together, the more Sir Pentious learned to feel out the edges of Alastor's boundaries—which lines he was willing to slowly scoot back with time and increased comfort, which lines were carved in stone—and the more Sir Pentious uncomplainingly backed away from a "no" before Alastor ever had to say it and stood cautiously at the threshold of a "maybe" while waiting to find out which way Alastor was going to feel about it that night.

And Alastor was infinitely relieved and grateful for the consideration.

Alastor stood and turned to wrap his arms around Sir Pentious's waist, pressed their hips together, and said in the sultriest copied-from-a-movie-star voice he could manage, "I certainly hope you _will_ enjoy it."

Sir Pentious's face lit up, the corners of his mouth twitching up in an eager smile. " _Oh_." He leaned forward automatically, arching his tail against Alastor's hips to try to press into his groin.

Then Alastor stepped back and said, with a degree of absolute non-sultriness that would have been better suited to a carnival game attendee tempting passersby to _step right up and try yer luck_ , "But my turn first!" He spun around and raised his tail teasingly, his grin widening as he imagined the look on Sir Pentious's face.

In return for Sir Pentious's infinite gentlemanly courtesy, Alastor had done his best to figure out exactly what it was Sir Pentious enjoyed most out of what Alastor _was_ willing to offer him. That included very carefully working out the _exact_ limitations on how much frustration Sir Pentious enjoyed being subjected to.

For a moment, there was only the sound of shifting scales on the tile behind Alastor. Then Sir Pentious said, "Remember what I said earlier about that being a good angle for you?"

Alastor turned his head just slightly enough to watch the layers of Sir Pentious's tail shifting back and forth as he began coiling up to sit lower. "Yes?"

Sir Pentious's next comment came from about waist height: "Well, I think it might have just been beat."

Alastor was never entirely sure how to respond to compliments toward his body, which always felt a little like being complimented on something arbitrary that he had no control over, like having equal-sized nostrils or a nice lengthy small intestine. (When such compliments came from anybody but Sir Pentious, he tended to avoid the issue by snapping the compliment-giver's spine and leaving the room.) So he typically defaulted to snappy humor: "Because now you don't have to look at my face at all?"

"Oh, hush, you."

Alastor hushed. Mainly because of the sudden shock of Sir Pentious's cool fingers running through the fur of his tail.

(Although within a minute, as he got used to the touches, he was back cheerfully to humming to himself to fill the void in the conversation.)

Fingers running through the fur on his tail was a bizarre sensation—being touched in general was a bizarre sensation. Under other circumstances, it was almost painfully intimate—an uncomfortable reminder that he did, in fact, have a corporeal body. He'd never quite made peace with that whole having-a-physical-form thing. In life, he'd only ever fully felt like himself in the broadcasting booth, when he could ignore his meat and focus only on his own voice; dying had simply given him the ability to broadcast from anywhere, letting him feel more like his true self no matter where he was. Being touched dragged him unwillingly back inside his body.

Which made _this_ touch a bizarre contrast, because it was disconcertingly _soothing_. Not just the feeling of shampoo being rubbed into his fur and then carefully, meticulously washed out, but the knowledge of who it was with his hands on him, running his fingers through Alastor's tail, gently squeezing Alastor's ass—

Hold on, why did a tail shampoo involve squeezing his ass?

Alastor stopped humming and twisted partially around to give Sir Pentious an amused look. "Having fun back there?"

Sir Pentious had pressed the side of his face lovingly into the small of Alastor's back and was half rapturously squeezing his butt cheeks, half running his fingers through the fur. He froze, eyes rolling up to meet Alastor's gaze. "I thought... that... you could use a massage," he said. "For your muscles. As long as I'm already in the area. Since you've been working so hard today and all."

The studio audience laughed while Alastor considered the offer—and weighing whether he felt more disconcerted or more soothed by the feeling of Sir Pentious's hands against, of all places, his butt. (Why _anyone_ was into butts—much less _so many_ people—would forever elude him.) Finally, smile quirking wider, he said, "That's very thoughtful of you." He turned back around and laced his hands behind his neck, expecting to be standing there a lot longer than he'd initially planned. "Let me know when you're done."

"Of course, my dear," Sir Pentious said brightly.

Alastor felt Sir Pentious plant a tiny kiss at the bottom of his spine, just above the base of his tail, and he automatically flicked his tail. He felt it brush over Sir Pentious's wrists.

He tilted his head back and let his eyes flutter shut, quietly playing an old wordless song as he basked in this tactile evidence of Sir Pentious's affection.

This was clearly as much a satiation of Sir Pentious's hunger for Alastor's body as it was a massage. Sir Pentious eagerly dragged his hands down to Alastor's thighs, squeezing and caressing, exploring their shape, groping at them as if he wanted to tear the meat from the bones and shove it in his mouth. (He probably didn't. That was probably Alastor projecting.) But at the same time, his fingertips pressed deep into muscles that Alastor hadn't even realized were sore and tense until suddenly Sir Pentious was relaxing them.

Sir Pentious gradually moved down to Alastor's calves, giving them the same treatment, running his fingers again through Alastor's fur as he moved past the widest curve of his calves and the fur began to thicken again closer to his ankles. Alastor always forgot what a bizarre pleasure it was to be treated like his body was a part of him that mattered. As Sir Pentious made it down to Alastor's dewclaws, rubbing his thumbs in between them—near the end of the massage, Alastor feared—he let out a long sigh and said, "You really _are_ doing a thorough job, aren't you?"

Sir Pentious's thumbs stilled. "You don't get pampered nearly often enough," he said. "Even though you _obviously_ enjoy it." He let go of one of Alastor's ankles to catch his tail in a finger.

Alastor almost started, the music he'd been playing cutting off with a record scratch, his head jolting up from where he'd let it loll back serenely against his laced fingers; he hadn't realized until Sir Pentious caught his tail that he'd been letting it swish back and forth contentedly. "Me? Enjoying it?" Alastor scoffed dramatically. "You can't prove anything."

Sir Pentious flicked Alastor's tail with the tip of a finger—Alastor took that as his cue to let it swing back and forth again, this time adding in a metronome sound.

Then Sir Pentious returned to Alastor's ankles. "I _know_ what you're like." Sir Pentious resumed his massage, focusing on the delicate bones in Alastor's feet. "You treat your body like a paper hospital gown."

Alastor laughed in surprise. "How's that?"

"Cheap, utilitarian, and disposable."

Alastor's studio audience laughed; and although he pressed his lips tighter together, he couldn't deny that it was true. (And kind of funny.) A side-effect of considering his body a rather inconvenient vessel to carry around his voice. Sir Pentious really _did_ know what Alastor was like. Which was just a little bit alarming to Alastor, this thought that he was _known_ by someone. He'd never been _known_ before Sir Pentious.

He shrugged. "Well."

He didn't see Sir Pentious rise back up to his usual height from his position near the floor, but he did hear it and _feel_ it: the sound of scales sliding around on the tile just behind Alastor's feet as he straightened out his coils, and the touch of Sir Pentious's hands trailing up Alastor's sides as he went: calves, knees, thighs, hips, waist, ribs... 

Alastor shivered in pleasure. Oh, that was far nicer than it had any right to be.

Sir Pentious circled Alastor's shoulder blades with his finger tips as he dragged his hands from Alastor's sides to his shoulders. "Just feel this." He drove his thumbs into Alastor's taut shoulder muscles, and Alastor let out a staticky groan he didn't mean to. That was a _nice_ kind of hurt. Sir Pentious let out a low chuckle and rubbed his thumbs in circles across Alastor's skin. "I'm amazed you can still _move_ with your muscles that tight."

"Loosen them all up and I _won't_ be able to move," Alastor murmured. He was half tempted to lean back against Sir Pentious, fling his arms around his neck, and ask to be carried to the mattress in the unfinished master bedroom to get his back massaged. "Have a little mercy—I still need to return the favor."

Sir Pentious dug his claws into Alastor's shoulder—oh that was a very, _very_ nice kind of hurt—and leaned forward, hood flared back so he could pressing his cheek against Alastor's. "Maybe I'd _like_ to make you unravel a little bit."

That was it, Alastor was ready to be carried away—oh, no wait, that was a double entendre, wasn't it? Oh, Alastor bet that Sir Pentious _would_ like that, wouldn't he. Sir Pentious tended to make little secret of all the things he wanted to do to Alastor's body, even things they both knew he'd never do; Sir Pentious probably thought it flattered Alastor. (It didn't; but it _did_ amuse the hell out of him.)

"Once we get out of the shower, you are _more_ than welcome to spend the rest of the night unraveling me." If Sir Pentious was double entendring, then Alastor could entendre right back at him. Sir Pentious wouldn't choose to misinterpret that as anything but an invitation to continue the massage.

And indeed, although Alastor could practically feel Sir Pentious's leering eyes like a spotlight shining down Alastor's chest and abdomen to his groin and thighs, Sir Pentious's hands didn't drift from his shoulders to drift lower. "It would be my delight."

"So! You _are_ going to let me take care of you now, aren't you?" That was the part Alastor had been _really_ looking forward to. He pressed his shoulders back against Sir Pentious's chest as leverage to help push their bodies apart—and one of his hooves immediately slipped out from under him. He let out a burst of confused sounds as his voice jerked across several stations, twisted around mid-scramble, flung his arms over Sir Pentious's shoulders for stability, and almost brought both of them down. They barely managed to regain their stability with Sir Pentious's back pressed against a wall, one of Alastor's hooves braced against another wall, and the other hoof braced against Sir Pentious's tail, both of them staring at each other with wide, startled eyes.

Both of them were suddenly, intensely aware of two very different things.

The thing that Sir Pentious was suddenly aware of was that Alastor's eyes were so gorgeous, wide open like that, glowing with an inner light that must have been magic but that looked like the warm orange-red glow of the lights on millions of dependable vintage electronics, with his wet hair clinging to his skin in disorganized bedraggled strands—

On the other hand, the thing Alastor was suddenly aware of was the fact that Sir Pentious's half-erect dicks were now sandwiched between their stomachs.

During the half second it took Alastor to remember how lust worked, he wondered what in the world had caused _those_ to show up; but then his startled look turned into a wry smirk. "And maybe while I'm taking care of you, I should also _take care_ of you?"

The expressions that cycled across Sir Pentious's face were, in order, confusion, realization, embarrassment, excitement, and at last a somewhat smug yet casual indifference. "Well, as long as you're offering—I can think of _nothing_ I would like you to do more."

Alastor got his hooves back under himself and straightened up. "Then I should probably finish cleaning you up before we get dirty again," he said, to an appreciative chuckle from his studio audience. Saucy bunch. "Need help with your back?"

"Yes, _please_."

No surprises; he often asked Alastor for help with his back. He didn't _need_ it—he was so flexible that Alastor thought if he actually _tried_ to break Sir Pentious's back, it would just flop over like a piece of rope draped over a fence—but it took just _slightly_ more effort for Sir Pentious to angle his arms to reach his back than it did for him to reach the entire rest of his body, which for some reason irritated him to no end.

"Then let me see the canvas I'm going to be finger painting on." Alastor backed up from Sir Pentious, crooking a finger at him in a _come hither_ gesture. 

Sir Pentious's half-erect cocks jerked a little further out of their shared slit so promptly it was almost as if the act of crooking a finger had tugged on some invisible string connected to their tips. For someone who didn't have the slightest idea what it felt like to be seduced, Alastor thought he as pretty good at playing the part of the seducer. Smirking, Sir Pentious slithered up to Alastor. He swayed his hips exaggeratedly as his tail zigzagged across the tiles and as he spun, hood flared, to expose his back to Alastor. So _graceful_. Alastor was never going to get over how smoothly Sir Pentious could move.

Alastor picked up Sir Pentious's bottle of body wash, repositioned his hooves to straddle Sir Pentious's tail, and squeezed some of the body wash into his hand to start lathering it as he looked Sir Pentious's back up and down. "So this is my canvas?" He tisked to himself, admiring the wet-shining scales. "I don't know if I can work with this."

Sir Pentious's hood slowly lowered as he turned to give Alastor a look. He knew Alastor too well, that was a look that said he could _tell_ a bad joke was coming. Warily, he asked, "Why not?"

"How can I do my finger painting on this," Alastor asked, "when the canvas itself is already a masterpiece?" He played a wolf whistle.

Sir Pentious jabbed an elbow into Alastor's ribs, turned around, flared his hood, and crossed his arms; but not before Alastor could see he'd cracked a flustered smile.

Alastor laughed silently. Then he got to work, rubbing the body wash into Sir Pentious's scales, starting with his lower back.

Sir Pentious almost instantly moved, first stretching and arching his back so that he nearly pulled away from Alastor's outstretched fingers, and then swaying back into his touch until Alastor's palms were pressed flat against his back. Alastor pushed back just as hard, pressing his thumbs along either side of Sir Pentious's spine.

Sir Pentious let out a low noise of appreciation, leaning back into Alastor's chest in much the same way Alastor had leaned against him minutes earlier, and flopped his head back against Alastor's shoulder. Alastor chuckled. "Enjoying yourself?"

" _Very_ much." Sir Pentious shivered as Alastor trailed his fingers lightly up and down his waist and rubbed his thumbs in circles along his lower back. "I've been scrubbing stray grout off of the tiles in here all day, you wouldn't _believe_ how sore my shoulders and arms are."

"Is that so?" Alastor glanced around at the tiles. Had Sir Pentious laid them all himself? Surely not; Alastor was willing to believe Sir Pentious had done everything from designing the shower to installing the water pipes himself, but setting hundreds of tiles in place seemed like the kind of dull repetitive task he'd delegate to the Egg Bois. Maybe he'd done the detail work, come in after them to clean up where they'd made messes. Alastor's hands left Sir Pentious's lower back just long enough to grab his upper arms and give them a light squeeze. "I'll have to make sure to spend _extra_ time on your shoulders, won't I?"

"If you'd please."

"Gladly." Alastor kissed Sir Pentious's neck—and then lingered there a moment, letting his eyes drift shut, reveling in how the cool smooth texture of Sir Pentious's scales seemed so magnified under Alastor's lips. He could feel Sir Pentious's hood tremble against his neck as Sir Pentious stretched his neck further, giving Alastor more room to press his lips against him.

Alastor gladly took advantage of it, pressing harder for just a moment and then trailing kisses up toward his jaw—and then pulling back. There'd be plenty of time for that later. He _did_ mean to actually help Sir Pentious wash off before the two of them got too distracted.

He refocused on the task at hand, making sure to thoroughly lather body wash against Sir Pentious's lower back—and admiring the way that his black scales shone through the white bubbles, the way the swirls of lather lined the crevasses in between his larger scales. Under his hands he could feel the gradual transition where Sir Pentious's musculature stopped feeling like what he expected to find beneath the skin of a human and turned into something else, as his muscles switched from supporting a human torso to helping him balance upon a long snake tail; he explored that transition far longer than he needed to, fingers curving around Sir Pentious's hips to feel the body edges of his still surprisingly humanoid pelvis, then thumbs tracing his spine as it ran through his pelvis and transitioned from back to tail. Amazing. Some days, Alastor was half tempted to ask if Sir Pentious would let him peel open his skin so he could see how it operated from the inside, but he thought that might be a little bit too weird.

Alastor supposed he himself had a similar mutation, didn't he?—but he wasn't half as fascinated by his own tail. It was just another of the many weird things that Hell had done to him, and not near close enough to the top _or_ bottom of the list for him to care about it. But Sir Pentious's skeleton, he didn't think he'd ever stop being fascinated by tracing it.

It probably helped that Sir Pentious appreciated being traced so much. Under Alastor's obsessive exploration, he arched his back forward and his tail backwards, hood flaring automatically, his tail sliding between Alastor's knees and then between his thighs until he'd pressed the broadest width of it back against Alastor's crotch.

Alastor returned the pressure. "Are we enjoying ourselves?"

Sir Pentious huffed. "You can be such a tease," he murmured, leaning back against Alastor's hips.

"Oh, a _tease_ , am I?" Alastor leaned forward to plant another kiss on Sir Pentious's hood, just at the base of his skull, at the spot where two golden stripes fused together into one—all while sliding his hands forward around Sir Pentious's hips to glide down over where his thighs should have been, along either side of his extended twin cocks without touching either of them. "A tease like this?"

Sir Pentious bucked uselessly forward into the air, and then ground back against Alastor's hips again. " _Exactly_ like that!"

"I'll keep your feedback in mind," Alastor said; then pulled back and continued working.

Sir Pentious let out an impatient huff, before catching one of Alastor's hands just long enough to give it a light, affectionate squeeze.

Up Alastor went along Sir Pentious's back, swirling patterns across the scales, pausing every once in a while to grind his thumbs or knuckles into particularly tense muscles to help loosen them; and then over Sir Pentious's shoulders, pretending to be exasperated every time Sir Pentious's hood automatically flared out and blocked Alastor's view; and then resting his chin on Sir Pentious's shoulder as he worked his way down both arms at the same time, watching as Sir Pentious's chest heaved and stomach flexed as he tried to control his breathing and hide the full extent of his arousal.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Alastor asked sweetly. "Your breathing's getting a little heavy."

"Sssh." Sir Pentious lolled his head back on Alastor's shoulder again.

Alastor chuckled and resumed where he'd left off earlier, kissing Sir Pentious's shoulder. It was beyond him how he could drive Sir Pentious to distraction with a simple massage. He doubted that it was because his untrained instinct-driven fumblings were that mind-blowing. _Alastor_ had certainly never gotten a tent in his pants from a massage, even from a professional. He couldn't _stand_ professional massages, in fact. It didn't matter how many kinks they worked out of his muscles; every time he'd tried to get one, the sensation of strange hands rubbing all over his back left him more uncomfortable than when he'd shown up. That kind of touch was an honor reserved for Sir Pentious, who had the only set of hands that didn't feel like a harsh invasion against Alastor's skin. And even _he_ didn't arouse Alastor—simply relax him.

But whatever the reason, Alastor _did_ manage to turn Sir Pentious on; and it was such a rush.

Watching Sir Pentious tremble beneath his fingers, feeling him roll against Alastor's body like he needed it, hearing him sigh and moan and pant and ask for more. One of the most dangerous men in history, a should-have-been world conqueror and someday-soon usurper of the devil himself, inventor-strategist-gentleman-sadist whose deadly devices represented both the greatest heights and cruelest depths the human spirit could ever hope to reach—and that man, _that man_ was squirming with delirious pleasure in Alastor's arms, hypnotized by his mere fingertips. Sir Pentious was all his, free for Alastor to do anything he wanted with, provided that what Alastor wanted to do was give him more pleasure.

And there was nothing in the universe Alastor wanted to do more.

He massaged Sir Pentious's long, graceful hands one at a time, so he could focus both his own hands on them—going finger by finger, joint by joint, alternating between rubbing hard circles into the centers of his palms and ghosting featherlight touches over the backs of his hands—until Sir Pentious's sighs were interspersed with nearly whisper-quiet groans. Alastor tilted his head so that Sir Pentious's exhales brushed over the fur of his ear, drinking every last sound in. But finally he couldn't justify teasing Sir Pentious's hands anymore; he held up the one he'd been working to his mouth, planted a kiss on the knuckles, and let it drop.

Sounding like he was either half-asleep or half-drunk, Sir Pentious said, "You're finished?"

"With your arms," Alastor said lightly. He slid his hands around Sir Pentious's waist beneath his arms, wrapping one around his abdomen to keep him in place while he grabbed the bottle of body wash to pour out a bit more. He was fairly certain that Sir Pentious had already done his own chest, but he certainly didn't protest when Alastor started going over it again, running in circles over his pecs and slowly slipping down.

Maybe it was the faint scent of Sir Pentious's straining, dripping cocks, or maybe it was the friction of Sir Pentious's writhing against him; but whichever it was, Sir Pentious's arousal was contagious. As Alastor trailed his hands down over Sir Pentious's abdomen, he realized his own cock had been gradually stiffening against Sir Pentious's rear. Unruly little troublemaker. He tried to tilt his hips back from the friction, only for Sir Pentious to immediately grind back against Alastor's groin again with a longing hiss. Well, all right, as long as one of them was having fun with it.

When Alastor finally slid his hands down over Sir Pentious's hips and around the bases of his cocks, Sir Pentious gasped out loud, coiled the end of his tail around one of Alastor's legs, and dug his claws into Alastor's forearms as he attempted to thrust into his hands.

Alastor dragged his hands halfway up Sir Pentious's dicks before he had to stop, pinned in place by Sir Pentious's tight grip. "I'm going to need some room to work, you know."

" _Fine!_ " Sir Pentious flung his arms up and behind Alastor, one curling tight in his hair and the other hooked over his shoulder. He sagged down another couple of inches against Alastor, as though his tail was giving out beneath him.

Alastor's arms all but burned at the pinprick spots where Sir Pentious's claws had pierced his skin. He could feel each tiny wound like ten individual kisses.

Sir Pentious was half rolling his hips and half thrusting against Alastor's hands. It made his body move like a wave from his diaphragm all the way down to where his tail met the floor; water beading on sparkling scales and running down his sides, the shining black and gold stripes catching the light as they moved, his many eyes roving around as they first went glazed with pleasure and then rolled up to try to stare at Alastor's face.

Alastor loved seeing Sir Pentious like this—absolutely undone with pleasure, every inch of his magnificent body on display for Alastor to enjoy. He started pumping Sir Pentious's cocks in earnest, eager to watch him reach his peak. Almost absent-mindedly, he started quietly humming a love song to help himself keep rhythm. 

Voice shaking, Sir Pentious half-breathlessly hummed along.

Alastor's voice caught in his throat, signal interrupted; his chest fluttered, his lungs fizzed with static electricity. Everywhere scales were pressed against his skin, he felt warm. Alastor would gladly go into battle against King Lucifer Magne the Devil himself for the sake of this man. For this man, Alastor would take another bullet between the eyes.

He pumped his hands faster.

Sir Pentious's attempts to hum along dissolved into whining pants as he approached his climax. His grip in Alastor's hair tightened enough to hurt.

Against the side of Sir Pentious's throat, Alastor murmured, "Have I mentioned lately that you're the most captivating creature in Hell?"

Sir Pentious shuddered. "Nh... no." All the way down his body, his eyes slid closed. "Tell me again."

Alastor tilted his head to whisper to Sir Pentious. His teeth grazed his jawline as Sir Pentious's seed spilled over his hands.

###

And then, in the midst of the throes of passion, Sir Pentious's coiled-up tail tip tightened around Alastor's leg and tripped him.

They tumbled to the tile floor with a collection of yelps and wet smacks.

Alastor laughed so hard he couldn't sit up.

###

"This is the great thing about doing this in the shower," Alastor said brightly. "Easy cleanup."

 _He'd_ certainly rebounded quickly from their ignoble spill, hadn't he? "I suppose," Sir Pentious grumbled. Meanwhile, he was on the other side of the shower, nursing his bruised elbow and ego. And giving Alastor a little privacy while he finished jerking off his erection.

"You don't have to turn away, you know," Alastor said. 

Sir Pentious glanced over; there was something self-conscious to Alastor's smile.

"I mean, we are..." Alastor shrugged awkwardly. "I mean. If _anyone_ can watch, it should be you."

 _If anyone_ , indeed—Sir Pentious got the sense that made him the first person in the queue in front of a door that wasn't going to unlock. Less of a door and more of a floor-to-ceiling window that suspiciously resembled a glass door.

Not that he was complaining. How could he be disappointed by having permission to see such a lovely view through the window? Especially considering that, if anyone _else_ tried to peek through this window, it'd be curtains for them. And Sir Pentious did _so_ enjoy having privileges nobody else had.

But just because he had the privilege didn't mean he had to exercise it. Sir Pentious shook his head. "When you take care of yourself like this, it feels less like you're putting on a show for me and more like you're... dealing with some private bodily function. Like using the toilet."

For a moment, there was a disconcerted look in Alastor's eyes—Sir Pentious suspected that Mister Eternal Radio Host had taken offense at the claim that there was _ever_ a time he wasn't putting on a show—but then he shrugged and turned away. "Fair enough!"

Although that didn't mean Sir Pentious couldn't steal a couple of glances while he waited for Alastor to finish. Whenever Alastor jerked off, his tail—rather than laying flat against his ass as usual—tended to curl up toward his spine. Typically his tail only did that when he was was uncomfortable—rather like goosebumps raising on one's arms and the back of one's neck, from what Sir Pentious could distantly remember of that sensation—which was unfortunate, because it _did_ provide a cute view of his butt—

Sir Pentious's thoughts were interrupted by a loud gong sound.

He was so startled he jumped—which was a pretty difficult thing for him to do. "What—?!"

"Finished!" Alastor calmly washed off his hands under one of the streams of water.

Sir Pentious stared at him. " _Why_ did you announce this by playing a—?" He couldn't get the question out without cracking up.

Alastor turned off the shower and beamed at him. "Because I knew it would make you laugh."

"Sh-shush!" What in the world had Sir Pentious done to get one of the most independently powerful sinners in Hell into his shower, giving him hand jobs and clowning around like a fool just to make him laugh? Hell, Alastor was even voluntarily scraping the popcorn ceiling out of Sir Pentious's new dining room. And in return he didn't even want Sir Pentious to jerk him off. What in the world could he do for Alastor to be worthy of such infinite gifts?

As Sir Pentious opened the shower door and offered a hand to help Alastor step out, his gaze lingered on the faint bruises forming on Alastor's legs and arms from slipping and landing on the tile so many times. Sir Pentious winced. Alastor seemed, as usual, completely oblivious to his fresh damage.

As far as what Sir Pentious could do in return for Alastor went, for starters: Sir Pentious could make sure the second half of that massage he'd been giving Alastor earlier was the best massage of his afterlife. And then he could get online and order some shower mats before Alastor's next visit.

He felt Alastor's grip tighten on his arm as his hooves nearly slipped—again—on the tile. Wryly, Sir Pentious said, "Maybe I should carry you the rest of the way to bed."

He was so prepared for Alastor to either get indignant or to laugh off the comment that for a moment he wasn't sure what to do when, instead, Alastor's face lit up and he said, "That doesn't sound like a bad idea."

Were his arms strong enough to carry a fully-grown man? Alastor was skinny, but Sir Pentious's upper body strength was... well, he had _eggs_ doing his heavy lifting for him.

But Alastor knew that. He knew the risk he was taking. And it was only a room away. Sir Pentious held out his arms and said, "You're in charge of opening the door."

Grinning gleefully, Alastor tossed his arms around Sir Pentious's neck and leaped into his arms. Sir Pentious barely managed to keep them both upright.

Alastor summoned up his cane and pointed it toward the door, as grand as a painting of a horse-riding king with a drawn sword. "Onward!"

And onward Sir Pentious went—after pausing to kiss Alastor.

**Author's Note:**

> Only got a few notes on this fic:
> 
> • Everything that poor Alastor and his hooves suffered in that bathroom can be blamed on YouTube videos of deer on slippery floors. [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCuhGhb2d6A) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-udXEfAZlo). Majestic.  
> • The song they were singing is "[Tea For Two](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTegBjrZ4IQ)" which was chosen for being _absolutely completely sappy_.  
> • Eggs for shampoo was a real thing. (Still is, in fact!) The referenced "two eggs and red wine" recipe is a "[Shampoo For Brunettes](http://www.sewhistorically.com/shampoo-recipes-victorian-and-edwardian-hair-care/)" recipe from 1910, and in his dead little heart Alastor still believes he's a dark brunette even if over 80 years of being damned to maraschino cherry red claim otherwise.
> 
> Original post available on [tumblr](https://ckret2.tumblr.com/post/618237155014328320/slippery-when-wet). Comments/reblogs there are very welcome (as are comments here)!


End file.
